One Moment: CatoGlimmer Short
by BreathingTimeMachine
Summary: Just a one shot about their time on their last night together. A little fluffy, a little guilty, but hopefully you like it. Based on the book/movie. Hope you like it! R/R!


**Author's Note: Hey guys! I know this isn't the first Cato/Glimmer story. Even though I'm working on my other story, this just hit me. I haven't done a lot of research on GLATO stories, so I don't know if there's another similar story. Just my take on what happened from the night they're around the campfire to the Tracker Jacker nest dropping. Hope you like it!**

One Moment

"How long do you think she'll stay up there?" Marvel demands as he sharpens his spearhead, clearly annoyed. "I hate feeling like a sitting duck while she's up in a tree."

"We'll be fine," Clove tells him as she adds more wood into the fire. She pulls her dark hair up and is examining her knives, all laid out on a log. I've never quite liked Clove from the beginning. Maybe it's her obsession for blood, or her fascination for blades. Or the coldness of her gaze.

"Who do we have to worry about besides Twelve up there?" I ask.

"Thresh," Marvel suggests, leaning against a tree trunk. The fire's light shadows his face as he thinks. "The boy from Eleven. Or maybe some of the other Districts have formed an alliance by now."

Cato smirks. "Whether it's Thresh or some weak group from Ten or Three, I think we can handle it. Especially if Glimmer shoots the other tributes like she shot that tree." He gives me a nudge as he says this. I try to shake it off; hoping the red glow of the flames conceals my blushing.

Clove and Marvel break into laughter, probably being louder than they should, but at this point, no one's concerned about being quiet anymore. Even Lover Boy, partially in the darkness of the trees, grins.

"Absolutely not!" I insist. "We'd do so much better if Cato fell on top of everyone." This time, the guffaws and snickers are directed to him. But we both smile anyway, his eyes flickering in the firelight.

We talk a little while longer, but it's soon clear everyone is exhausted from the day. One by one, Marvel, Clove, and the rest of the group dose off and drift into slumber. Cato's reclined against a boulder, playing with a piece of rope from one of the backpacks. Lover Boy's mumbling something in his sleep, but the words are too soft to make out what it is. I wonder if he really likes that girl from Twelve. Or if it's just a quick way to get favorites from the sponsor crowd.

I'm against a tree, half-asleep, half-alert. The woods encircle us, the dark, jagged trees and firelight creating a stark contrast. I'm not scared, but definitely on edge. There's something secretive about the forest at night. How branches rustling or twigs breaking could be anything.

Including someone waiting to kill you.

I follow Cato's line of sight and see he's looking at Twelve high up in her tree. The trim on her jacket reflects the moonlight. His voice pierces the cold, smoky air and startles me.

"So, what's it like in District One?" Cato asks, poking the fire with a stick. A log shifts in the flames and sends a column of sparks into the air.

"It's okay." I reply, staring into the bed of white coals. "The Games are so important over there; no body really focuses on much else. After the Games are over for that year, all anybody does is start training for the next Reaping."

"You volunteered, right?" Cato says.

"Volunteered." I look up at the sky for a moment, and then continue. "You know, I do like the Games. The Capitol has a lot of influence in One, so most people do. But my parents…" I smile at the thought in my head, and Cato grins too. "My parents had me in training for so long, I don't want to disappoint them, you know?"

"But the fame and fortune doesn't hurt, either," Cato reminds me, and I laugh.

"No, yeah, that definitely helps." I agree.

"In District Two," Cato tells me, "the Games are pretty important too. You either train for that or train to be a Peacekeeper. Whatever happens, though, I want to go home to Two. See what it's like to bring home honor and glory like that."

"What's your family like?" I ask.

"They're supportive, I guess. I have two little brothers, Cane and Eric. They're really proud of me, for volunteering," he says with a smile. There's something about that smile. How warm and genuine it is, that makes it almost impossible for me not to do the same. "My father's really close friends with Brutus, too, so he has high hopes for me as well."

"You mentor, the scary one?"

"Well, he's actually a real sweetheart once you get to know him." Cato says matter-of-factly, and we grin.

"I have an older sister, but she never did the Games for some reason. So I guess that leaves it to me."

"Then we're not that different," Cato states firmly. When several moments pass, he runs a hand through his blonde hair and looks at my arm, resting on my knee. "How's your wound from the Cornucopia? From Six?" Before I can say anything, he gets up and walks over to me. He sits down by me feet, across from me, and holds out his hand.

My heart jumps a little. Of course I'm attracted to Cato. He's strong and tall and handsome. When I expose my forearm, though, he's surprisingly gentle. He cradles my wrist in his palm, and looks at the cut I received from the girl from Six. It's really more of a knick than anything else, shallow and short. I had killed her shortly after that, however. Now it's starting to heal, a dark red line in my skin.

"We'll see how it is in the morning, and whether or not it needs a bandage or something." He gives me a serious look. "I think you'll live though."

"What a relief," I sigh.

Cato doesn't let go of my hand though.

"Cato…" I trail off. Our eyes meet, hands still interlocked. His skin is warm against mine. Since the Training Center, it's been like this. The flirting, the feelings, the tension a single elevator ride can hold. But it's too confusing. It's stupid to have feelings for another tribute in the Games. The best that could come out of it would be heartbreak. But much worse things are likely to happen.

It's like Cato's reading my mind.

"You don't think we should do this," he says, eyes on our hands, our interwoven fingers.

"No," I whisper.

He leans in closer to me. "Are you afraid?"

I think about the Games ending. How, even if the two of us make it to the very end, there's only one who can win.

"Yes." My voice is even quieter now.

His face, his lips, are only inches away from mine now.

"Do you trust me?"

I don't answer. Because he has his other hand in my hair, pulling me into him. Just when we're about to kiss, Marvel stirs. We pause, and I wonder if Cato can hear my heartbeat.

He stirs again, and rolls onto his side. Cato is searching my eyes, wondering what my answer is.

"We can't," I murmur.

"Glimmer…" he looks at me, like he has something else on his mind, fighting with whether or not to say it. His hand leaves my hair. "See you in the morning?"

I nod. And he rises slowly, keeping his other hand interlocked with mine until he finally has to walk away, back to where he was.

The night deepens, and eventually I do find sleep. It's a restless sleep, though, filled with shifting and stirring. Despite how tired my body is, and even my mind, thoughts keep entering my head and glimpses of memories play vividly behind my closed eyes. Cato and I can't do this anymore. Whatever it is, we came very close to getting too far in tonight.

I can't let it happen again. We owe both of us that much, for our own good.

Cato is my competition, and, if I'm going to win, I'll have to leave the arena without him.

The wind blows the branches, and some undeterminable amount of time passes.

I'm vaguely aware of footsteps approaching me.

I try to open my eyes, but my head is so heavy, I'm so exhausted; I can't seem to do so. The leaves by my side are brushed away, and I feel someone against me. When my eyes open, I turn my head, and he's there. Cato. He's propped up on an elbow. The embers are so dim now I can barely make out his features.

"It's you." I say quietly.

"It's me." He says back. Cato hesitates for a moment. "I saw you tossing and turning."

We don't say anything further. He lays down completely. I'm still turned to face him. He puts an arm around me and I rest my head by his shoulder.

It is only then that I find sleep.

The light of the morning wakes me up gradually several hours later. I'm still in the same position I was with Cato. I breathe in deeply, taking his scent in mingled with the smoke of the campfire. He moves his arm slightly. Cato's face is so peaceful, almost vulnerable, in sleep, that I smile when I see it, and close my eyes again. The birds start waking up, filling the air with their voices. Their calls are happy and singsong, almost like they're saying "good morning," to each other.

There is one last sound I hear before drifting back into my dreams completely.

A rustling, a stirring, high above. On the verge of sleep, my mind can't form a clear thought as to what it might be. Maybe it's the girl from Twelve, waking up too. I settle myself against Cato though, protected and safe in his arms.

I know one thing.

Whatever happens, we'll have the next couple days to put off the inevitable.

To pretend this one moment will last forever.


End file.
